The images of the Colts sneaking out of Baltimore on a snowy March night in 1984 are now infamous. / Lloyd Pearson, The Baltimore Sun via AP

by Phillip B. Wilson, USA TODAY Sports

by Phillip B. Wilson, USA TODAY Sports

BALTIMORE - Ask John Unitas Jr., son of the late Hall of Fame quarterback whose very name evokes images of pro football in this city.

Ask the guy who runs Baltimore's sports museum. Or a 79-year-old living NFL Hall of Famer.

Ask the "Iron Man" fan who will be attending his 364th consecutive NFL game in Baltimore when the Ravens host the Indianapolis Colts on Sunday in the playoffs.

They say Baltimore is over it.

It's over having the Colts swept away on a snowy day in 1984 by Mayflower vans headed for Indianapolis. Aside from a few fans who choose to be bitter until the day they die, this city's football faithful has moved on.

But there's a catch.

"They will never forgive Irsay," said Michael Olesker, longtime Baltimore journalist and author of the 2008 book The Colts' Baltimore: A City and Its Love Affair in the 1950s.

That's the late Robert Irsay, father of current Colts owner Jim Irsay and architect of the move to Indianapolis. He died in 1997.

"Baltimore people have moved on," Olesker said. "We actually have. We don't dwell on that anymore. The Ravens have taken that place in our hearts."

Still, he added, "It still hurts to see that horseshoe on the side of the helmet and realize it's not here. For those of us in that generation, we're never going to forget."

Legacy still an issue

Unitas Jr., 56, doesn't get emotional about the Colts coming back to Baltimore. But his father and other former Baltimore Colts never understood how Irsay's move also meant the team history and its records transferred to Indianapolis.

At the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, the Baltimore Colts are part of Indianapolis history.

"That, to me, is just a crime," said Unitas, a local resident who will attend Sunday's game. "It's a slap in the face of the old Baltimore Colts players.

"Like (my father) would tell you, those records have nothing to do with Indianapolis. They have to do with Baltimore."

And he agreed that the Colts nickname doesn't make sense, not when considering Baltimore has a rich history of horse racing and Indianapolis is known for a different type of racing as the "Motorsports Capital of the World."

"I wish we had the name back," Unitas said.

John Ziemann, director of the Sports Legends and Babe Ruth museums, gave up on that dream years ago.

Ziemann has been a member of what started out as the Baltimore Colts marching band for 51 years. These days, he's president. An ESPN documentary on the band, directed by Baltimore's Barry Levinson, was entitled The Band That Wouldn't Die.

"We hated Irsay. We hated Indianapolis. We hated (former Indianapolis mayor Bill) Hudnut," Ziemann said. "Together, we hated them. There's no two ways about it. They took something away from us that belonged to us and they had no right to do that. No right at all.

"But after 28 years, it heals."

Irsay's son, Jim, is well aware of how Baltimore thinks of his father. The Colts owner declined comment.

"The scar will always be there," Ziemann said. "The wound has healed, but the scar will always be there and you can't erase history of what was done to us."

Pained no more

Hall of Fame halfback Lenny Moore is a local and visits the Ravens weekly. One of the first Baltimore Colts to support the Ravens, he's no longer consumed by contempt.

"Matter of fact, I don't even think about it," Moore said. "I got myself together from the time they left."

Retired Baltimore Colts linebacker Stan White, now a Ravens radio analyst, still has trouble accepting the horseshoe helmet.

"It stirs me whenever I see it," said White, 63. "That's the first thing that comes to mind. I have those helmets all over my house. I see it and I think of my team. I can't block that out."

But he's moved on, too. White's kids became Ravens fans. When Robert Irsay died, White said, "that was the end to any bitter feelings."

And, White actually has fond memories of Jim Irsay.

"We always really liked Jimmy Irsay a whole lot when he was a kid as a ballboy for us," White said. "We know he's done a great job there and he's always reached out to the guys. He's a class act."

Clinging to memories

Steve LaPlanche, 59, born and raised in Baltimore, will attend his 364th consecutive NFL home game in Baltimore on Sunday.

Known as "The Iron Fan," he will be profiled in an NFL Films documentary next week. His consecutive games streak goes back well into the years of the Baltimore Colts.

"It always hits my heart when these teams play," said LaPlanche, who drove to the Baltimore Colts' complex in 1984 and watched his team leave on those Mayflower vans. "It's still a day that breaks my heart. People say I need to get over it. I'm over it, but that day I will never forget."

LaPlanche reminisces about the good old days of approaching the likes of Unitas, Art Donovan and Raymond Berry at restaurants. Then the fan produces pictures.

"I forgive everybody, no matter what happens, but you don't forget," he said. "Robert Irsay, to me, was garbage. I wouldn't speak to him today if I saw him. I don't hold that against Jimmy. But Robert Irsay, I try to forget he ever existed."

Musician Ken Gutberlet has forgotten about more than that.

"The Colts moved out of town on my birthday," said Gutberlet, 45, during open mic night at Leadbetter's. "So I pretty much quit the NFL after that. I know the Ravens are in town and they have done well and everybody gets excited about them, but I quit the NFL."

They won't do that at Nacho Mama's Mexican restaurant in the Canton district, where late owner Patrick "Scunny" McCusker was a diehard Colts and Orioles fan.

Upon entering, patrons can't miss the corner wall hanging. It's a small casket with the likeness of Robert Irsay's head at the top. McCusker had it made shortly after the place opened in 1994.

"Welcome to Baltimore," said a bartender, amused by another visitor's stunned reaction.

McCusker was killed in an accident Aug. 25. Maybe with him gone, perhaps the casket will come down some day? Manager Sean Leahy, 56, of Annapolis, Md., doesn't see that happening any time soon.